


State of Grace

by suchabeautifuldisaster



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchabeautifuldisaster/pseuds/suchabeautifuldisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just finished this today and decided to post it. i just want stydia to get together, okay??</p>
            </blockquote>





	State of Grace

There’s this boy.

 

She thinks that she’s tired of boys, really she is…

 

one of her boyfriends turned out to be a lizard, then another was half of a mutant werewolf-

but this boy is different from them. 

Very much so.

She’s always been attracted to the impossibly gorgeous, abs that could cut glass,

raging douchebag, obsessively protective, unnecessarily cruel,

but she remembers that day, so clearly that she thinks it’ll be a moment that she’ll never forget-

 

_ You’re a bad guy. And I don’t want to be with the bad guys. _

 

It resonates with her now, as she’s trying to find herself, trying to find something to hold on to-

because her best friend is dead and her mother doesn’t know  _ anything _ and-

she feels like she’s drowning. 

Lydia Martin doesn’t drown.

She doesn’t barely keep her head above water.

She rises out of it, stronger than ever. 

 

But, the thing is, she doesn’t feel too strong right now.

She feels quite the opposite.

Not exactly powerless, maybe leaning on the glued to the spot kind of ordeal.

She feels like a survivor. 

There’s not much to live for when you’re a survivor… not when everyone you love didn’t make it. 

 

She wonders if that’s how Derek Hale feels.

If the guilt and the anger and the sadness just piles on his shoulders like books on a shelf-

never to be taken down, or looked through.

Because people don’t like sad, guilty, angry things.

They avert their eyes and move to the shelf that isn’t nearly filled,

and pluck a sappy book of romance or hope.

 

_ Hope.  _

 

The word is bitter and turns stale in her mouth.

 

She thinks hope left a long time ago, and she didn’t even get to wave it goodbye. 

Jackson went to London, doesn’t call, never emails, couldn’t bother with a letter-

Aiden is dead, and she still can't decide how that makes her feel-

Her dad lives in New York, content to send her money on birthdays and holidays-

as if a jumble of numbers into her bank account is going to fix her problems.

 

It used to.

But she’s not that girl anymore.

 

Allison’s  _ gone _ . Buried in the ground, with a quiet funeral.

She remembers not being able to look at Scott.

No, that hurt too much.

He didn’t stop crying.

It was the kind of crying that didn’t require a sound, but was still painful to watch.

Tears that could  fill an ocean streamed down his cheeks. 

He simply sat, eyes straight ahead, Ms. McCall on one side,

 

Stiles on the other. 

 

Stiles, ironically, looked a lot better than he did a week ago.

Color was back in his cheeks, and he didn’t look like he was one second away,

from falling apart like a house of cards. 

 

She couldn’t look at Allison’s tombstone, she just  _ couldn’t _ -

In that moment she didn’t want to be strong.

She didn’t want to be the girl that could keep a straight face,

That solved every problem, that was so smart she knocked you breathless-

she just wanted to just  _ be. _

 

Instead, her eyes flicked over to Scott’s and Stiles’ hands,

clasped together so tight, she worried the werewolf would break his best friend’s fingers.

She doubted Stiles would’ve minded,

He would’ve lit himself on fire for Scott.

 

He almost did.

 

She jumped in the hard plastic seat,

because there was suddenly a warmth sliding over her leg, and then-

her eyes flashed to her hand, 

and saw that a larger one, with calloused palms and long, skinny fingers,

was curling around her own. 

 

She tilted her head, bit her lip, 

and found Stiles staring at her.

His amber eyes were sad, but she could see the faint flicker of life in them.

It made her want to sigh in relief because she wasn’t sure if he would ever be  _ him _ again.

 

He didn’t say anything but squeezed her hand.

She tried to smile for him, but she knew it doesn’t reach her eyes.

She knew he wouldn’t fault her for it.

She wondered if she'll ever be able to smile again, and really mean it. 

 

_ That seems impossible _ she thought, and clutched Stiles' hand in her own, covered it with her free one. 

 

Beside her, Stiles had sucked in a shaky breath but didn't say a word. 

 

You see, there’s this  _ boy.  _

 

Who used to look at her like she was a goddess,

Who said hi to her every day their freshman and sophomore year,

While she never looked back, head raised proudly. 

 

Because before, Stiles wasn’t a second thought, or a third…

 

He was someone that wasn’t even a blip on her radar. 

 

But then he was suddenly  _ there,  _ constantly,

With a million questions and hands gesticulating wildly,

His full mouth stress-bitten and his bright animated eyes that hold mountains of bags under them.

 

She wasn’t the only one that hasn’t been getting sleep, it seemed.

 

He is someone that she could never see herself falling for,

Even though he saw her better than anyone she’d ever dated.

Jackson knew Lydia’s passion and stroked it with his own, almost destroying them both.

Aiden saw her recklessness and sucked bite after bite down the pale column of her neck.

 

Stiles holds her tight in his arms like he could protect her from all of the bad in the world.

 

Lydia is starting to think that she might let him. 

 

The summer is a long one,

Long, and very hot.

Her Mom wanted to go on vacation, somewhere far away,

But every time Lydia considered the possibility,

Allison’s face appeared in her head,

Smiling sweetly, her brown hair blowing softly in her face.

 

Lydia could not leave her. 

Not now. 

 

Lydia first sees Stiles since school ended,

At the library. 

She had been returning books herself,

And when while she was waiting for the librarian to show, 

Lydia had taken a casual look around, leaning against the counter-

 

There was Stiles.

Brown hair mussed, a dark blue tee stretched over his broad shoulders,

Hunched over a pile of books.

 

Lydia could spot three moles on the back of his neck from where she stood,

And it reminded her of constellations.

Briefly, she wondered if you could connect the roadmap of all of Stiles’ various moles and freckles-

What shape would it be? 

 

Where would it lead?

 

The redhead returns her books, and before she even fully realizes what she’s doing,

She’s taken the empty seat in front of him. 

Stiles immediately looks up, 

Eyes that couldn’t decide whether to be brown or gold,

Blinking at her owlishly. 

 

It’s adorable, and Lydia’s heartbeat quickens. 

 

_ What am I doing?  _

 

“What are you doing?” she asks, point-blank, no trace of hesitance. 

For this is Lydia, a girl who has always deserved the answers to every question. 

Stiles stares at her for a moment, before a barely-there grin tugs at his mouth. 

Wordlessly, he passes her what he was reading, pointing at the passage. 

 

It’s, of course, about werewolves,

Because just like Lydia, Stiles’ thirst for knowledge is just as fierce, 

And in some cases, just as deadly. 

 

Lydia spends a long time in that library with Stiles,

Correcting his notes, poking holes through his theories,

Biting back a giggle every time his face scrunches up in annoyance at a point she’d brilliantly made. 

 

Stiles really listens to her and begrudgingly changes his notes,

Asks her piles upon piles of questions,

His fingers brushing hers every so often.

A pleasant, warm tingle races through her every damn time,

And Lydia wonders if she should stop this, 

But  part of her, 

Broken and lonely and tired,

Doesn’t want to fight it anymore.

 

It becomes a routine.

Stiles picks Lydia up from her house in the morning,

And while Lydia used to balk at Stiles for wanting McDonald’s breakfast,

Soon he has her converted to its greasy goodness. 

 

They talk and bicker and argue. 

It’s the most easiest thing Lydia has ever done in her life. 

As she’s laughing at a stupid joke Stiles has made,

A thought crosses her mind. 

 

_ Why didn’t I do this sooner? _

 

For her long red hair is in a messy ponytail,

No makeup, no nail polish,

Pale thighs sticking to the hot car seat, 

Stiles beside her, wearing obnoxiously yellow sunglasses,

His smirking mouth moving a mile a minute,

And it might be her favorite place. Her favorite moment. 

One that she wishes she could crawl into and seal herself inside forever.

 

Sometimes their car ride leads to the library.

 

Sometimes, it goes to the park.

 

Or the beach. 

 

Sometimes, they just drive for a long, long time.

 

And it’s perfect.

 

Lydia kisses him first.

She would just like to set the record straight, here,

For Stiles will fight her to the end of the world about it.

 

Sometimes, she wants to let him win. 

 

It was a late night,

So late that the pinky-orange glow of sunset faded,

Into the dark blue mystery of the night,

Glittering with stars, a crescent moon hanging in the sky. 

 

The two had just gotten ice cream,

Which Stiles had paid for this time,

It was his turn, and while he made a fuss about pulling out his wallet-

Lydia could spot his sneaky, amused grin from a mile away. 

_   
_ _ This boy.  _

 

Stiles gets cotton candy, 

Lydia gets mint chocolate chip.

 

He drives them out to the beach,

One hand lazily curled around the wheel,

The other wrapped around his cone.

 

Lydia has her bare feet up on the dashboard,

Head pressed back against the seat, watching him unabashedly,

For she stopped being embarrassed around Stiles back in June. 

 

When they make it to their spot, 

The two get out and sit on the hood of the Jeep.

Lydia is already done with her cone,

So instead she reaches forward and takes a bite out of Stiles’ every so often,

Laughing at the indignant sqwuak he strangles out each time. 

 

In that moment, she wishes Allison could see her,

Smiling, carefree, with a boy that hasn’t caused her any sadness at all,

But hope. 

 

Hope that tastes like ice cream and the salt wafting off of the ocean,

Smelling like Stiles’ laundry detergent and sunscreen.

She wishes that Allison could see that she did save  _ her. _

Allison saved Lydia from becoming a person,

that would’ve never have known that this is what true happiness felt like. 

 

Stiles is down to the end of his cone,

When he gets a dollop of ice cream on his nose.

Lydia rolls her eyes fondly and shakes her head,

Leaning towards him with her thumb,

Brushing it away smoothly.

He pauses from his ice cream,

Looking at her with something akin to awe,

As she brings her hand to her mouth,

Licking the ice cream from her finger. 

 

Lydia stares boldly back,

A small secret smile on her plush mouth.

A smile that’s only _ , only _ for him.

 

Suddenly Lydia realizes how close he is,

She can count every freckle, every mole,

That dots along his cheeks, sneaks down his neck.

His dark hair is disheveled, his mouth deliciously red.

 

His  _ eyes _ .

 

Gold, brown, and every unfathomable color in between.

Eyes that she would see every time she closed her own.

 

Eyes that are boring into her own green ones,

Filled with everything that’s been building up between them these past two months-

Feelings that she never knew she could feel,

Feelings that, for him, have morphed from doting obsession to something like love.

 

She doesn’t know who closes the distance first,

For she’s too busy wanting him in her arms,

And watching distractedly as he tosses the cone over his shoulder.

Then there's a warm hand fitting perfectly at the small of her back,

Another that gently trails up her neck, his fingers seeping into her hair.

 

His thumb sweeps sweetly against her cheek,

And she leans into it, into him.

Her own hand comes up to trap the one at her neck,

And she moves, eyes closing,

Presses her mouth to his. 

 

It’s different than that time in the locker room.

Stiles had been scared, gasping for air that wouldn’t bring relief,

Eyes blown wide, hands shaking.

 

She had kissed him because she wanted it all to stop,

Because she was scared, too. 

 

This time, his hands are firm and strong,

Gripping her tight but impossibly gentle, always gentle. 

Lips moving softly but insistently against her own. 

She kisses him back, opening herself up to him,

To all of this, to the taste of Stiles,

And all of the hope he brings with each happy sigh.

 

There’s this boy.

Except, he’s kind of her boy, now. 

One that can read her like a book he never wants to put down.

One who looks at her as if she is the only good thing, the only thing that matters.

One who always has to be touching her,

Whether it’s his hand, twining with her own,

Or one settling against her back,

Or curling an arm around her neck, kissing the top of her head.

 

Lydia doesn’t think that she’s just a survivor anymore.

She won’t forget what’s happened.

She visits Allison’s grave every day,

Makes a point to check in on Scott,

And learns that her Mom,

Might just be the best woman she’s ever known.

 

Maybe she’s in a state of grace.

Maybe she’s been dreaming this entire time,

And hasn’t woken up yet. 

 

But as she stares out the car window, the sun beaming,

Her boy in the driver’s seat, singing horribly to the pop song on the radio...

She decides that dreams wouldn’t feel this real. 


End file.
